“We lost two men last night and I got four more burned in the hospital.”
“How come this year is so bad?”
“You want the official answer, or mine?”
“Yours.”
“Putting out too many little fires.”
“What do you mean?”
“A lot of people move out here and build in the woods. They start crying when it catches on fire, and we get sent to put them out. Used to, we let those little fires burn. The brush builds up in the timber and there’s more to bum when it ignites. That kept a big one like this from happening. But the new people got the money and the juice.”
“That’s the way it always is, ain’t it.”
“No real Montanan builds a fancy house in the woods. I got two men died trying to save million-dollar homes.”
He turned to spit and the desiccated earth sucked the moisture like a sponge.
After three eighteen-hour days, Joe took a day off. The next morning, he and Botree drank coffee in sunlight the color of sweet corn.
“Got a visit from Owen,” Botree said. “He wanted us to be ready to mobilize.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know exactly. Frank might have to move his camp because of the fires.”
“It’s not my fight.”
“He said he’s just keeping us informed.”
The boys ran around the house, their boots raising a trail of dust. Abilene grabbed Joe’s leg, Dallas pushed his brother, then took Joe’s hand.
“Why are mountains so close together?” Dallas said.
“That’s just how they grow, I guess,” Joe said.
“I know,” Dallas said. “The seeds were close together when they got planted.”
“That makes sense.”
“And rocks are seeds.”
The boys began hunting rocks to plant.
“You’re good for them,” Botree said.
“You know what Dallas said the other day? Said he had two heads — his forehead and his main head.”
“Sounds like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s you that’s here now,” Botree said. “And there’s the other you that drifts away sometimes. Makes me wonder if we can ever have a normal life.”
“What do you call normal?” Joe said. “Your kids don’t go to school. Your neighbors think freedom of religion means picking which Christian church to go to. The main thing your family is worried about is keeping their guns, and they got enough to start a war already.”
“What about me?”
“You’re normal enough.”
“My mother taught me to shoot and my father taught me to cook.”
Joe watched the boys dig for a rock embedded in the hard dirt. Boyd had taught him more than his parents had.
Abilene was yelling for the stick Dallas was using to dig. Dallas pushed him, and Abilene hit his brother.
“You all shouldn’t fight,” Joe said. “Know what me and my brother did when we had to share?”
The boys shook their heads.
“We flipped for it. Got a penny?”
The boys shook their heads.
“Neither did we.”
Joe stooped for a flat rock. He spat on one side and smeared it with his thumb.
“Now you have to call it in the air. Dry or wet.”
He flipped the rock high. Dallas yelled “Wet,” and the rock landed with the dry side up, Joe found each of them a stone and returned to Botree. She looked at him carefully.
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” she said.
Joe turned away. The mountains were spiked with trees that would remain green throughout the fall. He missed the brilliant foliage of home. Autumn had been Boyd’s favorite season. Long after he’d quit hunting deer, he’d still tracked them every year, hoping to touch one in the woods.
23
In September the fires were deemed the worst in thirty years. Camping in parks was suspended, Missoula filled with evacuated families, off-duty firefighters, and emergency volunteers. The Red Cross set up temporary housing in school gymnasiums. Gerard and Phil were promoted to driver, and Joe worked alone. He lost weight from missing meals, and his leg ached from saying in one position while driving.
One morning Joe hauled cases of dried military food to a new base deep in the Flathead Valley. Each crate was stamped MRE. The slanting sun lit the Mission Mountains as if the rock walls held shards of glass. Deer cropped grass in a meadow of oxeye and balsam root. Joe followed a crude map to the first turn. A ladder of freshly dozed switchbacks climbed upslope to a new camp high in the mountains. From the summit, fire was visible in the west. It made arcing lines of orange along the slopes, forming a border of green trees and blackened earth. Aircraft circled overhead, carrying fire retardant and men.
A single tent stood beside a mess trailer and mini-dozer. Joe opened the truck’s rear gate and waited for a crew to help him unload the crates of food. He stood in the sun, wearing a down vest over flannel shirt and long johns. He was eager for the day to end. Tomorrow was Abilene’s birthday, and Joe had bought a board game that he and Boyd had played as kids.
Four young men approached the truck. Joe knew they were fresh recruits by the enthusiasm in their stride. These men hadn’t learned to hoard their energy for the fire. They seemed vaguely familiar and Joe wondered if they lived in the Bitterroot.
“Shit fire and save matches,” said a man. “Now we got to work.”
“All right, boys,” said another, “let’s knock this out fast and loaf.”
“Let’s not and say we did.”
“By God, he’s so lazy he’d not hit a lick at a snake.”
Joe recoiled from the raucous twang of their voices. He knew instantly where they were from. He turned to climb in the cab, but the men were upon him.
“What the hell’s in this truck anyhow?”
“Ever you boys see food that looked like that?”
“I’d not eat that to save me from Horn-head’s Hades.”
“Nothing’ll save you, son. You’re plumb wicked. Satan’s got a special room just waiting on you.”
“By God, it’ll be warmer than that damn tent. I’m sleeping in the middle tonight.”
“Will you give favors?”
“What do you mean?”
“Shoot, last night Bobby here gave us a little brown-eye, didn’t you, Bobby.”
“Shut up, you heathen.”
Joe hurried across the hard earth to the base commander, who was muttering into his radio. Joe waited until he finished. Strips of mist twined among the boughs of tamarack.
“Brought a load of food,” Joe said.
“We need it. Threw twenty men in the fire last night. They’ll be hungry tomorrow.”
“Anything special you’re needing?”
“Yeah. Rain.”
Joe made his voice flat.
“Where’s that new crew from?”
“Kentucky.”
Joe stood without blinking for nearly a minute. The pounding of his head moved across his shoulders and down his spine. In as casual a fashion as possible, he walked to the edge of the clearing and entered the woods. He watched the men unload the truck. They worked without talking, moving as a team. When they completed the task, they squatted on their heels to rest.
Joe walked to the truck, careful to keep it between him and the crew. He climbed in the passenger side, slid across the bench seat, and started the engine. Its steady rumble calmed him. From the open window came a voice.
“Hey, buddy. You ain’t got any water, do ye? Ain’t a one of us had a thing to drink.”
Joe passed a canteen to the man, who showed it to the crew behind him. Another man approached the truck. Joe thought he was staring, but couldn’t be certain.
“Keep it,” Joe said.
“Thank ye. We’re kindly new here. What about blankets and such?”